


The Day the Music Died

by PaxieAmor



Series: I Know That You're In Love With Him [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE MOVIE YET, M/M, THIS STORY CONTAINS MOVIE SPOILERS, You Have Been Warned, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxieAmor/pseuds/PaxieAmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Months...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day the Music Died

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is to be blamed on [Ladynorthstar](http://ladynorthstar.tumblr.com/), who somehow managed to put this plot bunny in my head. I don't know how it happened, we were talking about art...
> 
> Also, this fic is slightly inspired by [this post](http://fuckyeahavengersheadcanon.tumblr.com/post/22459015808) at Fuck Yeah Avengers Headcanon; I remembered it as I was writing and wanted to work it in.
> 
> Enjoy!

Two months.

It had been two months since that day on the helicarrier. The day he faced down a demi-god without a second thought, brandishing a gun that likely did things he wouldn’t understand, only to be stabbed through the back. He fell to the ground, feeling the warmth of his own blood running down his back. Phil Coulson watched helplessly as Loki pushed the button, sending the Hulk Tank with Thor inside down to his possible death.

He said something quite inspirational, though he doesn’t really remember what it was, taunting Loki one last time. He then fired the gun.

“So that’s what it does.” He remembered saying that quite clearly. He remembered Director Fury finding him, telling him to hang on. He remembered saying something about the team needing something to fight for, something they now had.

He remembered _dying_. He remembered thinking of Clint, of losing Clint, of how he’d never know if Clint was going to be okay, if he was ever going to be back to the way he was…

He remembered coming _back_. The painful gasp, the surge of _hurt_ through his entire body, the doctors telling him to calm down, that he was going to be just fine. He remembered asking them if Stark had been allowed to reanimate his body or upload his persona into an android.

He was told no, to both. In regards to the latter, he’s yet to have decided if he’s disappointed or not.

The wound had been serious; though it barely missed his heart, it had done enough damage that he would need to stay in bed, immobile for about six months. Apparently, that’s how long it would take for his damaged internal organs to finish repairing; there was a lot of medical technobabble thrown at him that he likely would have understood if he hadn’t been under the influence of some _really_ fantastic drugs.

That was two months ago. In that time, his continued existence was a closely guarded secret. No one, save for Director Fury and Agent Hill came to see him. Hill told Phil what Fury had done with his cards; Phil demanded replacements. With _autographs_. Fury said he would need a list of the entire collection; Phil had it for him the next day.

No one said anything about Clint, leading him to fear the worst. Although, as much as he wanted to know, he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

The nightmares started the second week in. He had seen the footage of Clint falling under Loki’s power, heard the demi-god tell his archer that he had heart; no one needed to tell Phil that. He knew that better than anyone in the world.

The nightmares changed from night to night. One night he would be one under Loki’s control and he would wake up just as he ran a knife through Clint’s heart. The next, Clint would be killing him. The night after, it was Afghanistan. Oh, _Afghanistan_ ; those dreams were always about Phil not making it in time. One time, he would see Clint get the injection; the next he would just get shot, in the head, in the heart, in the stomach; there were so many different ways he had seen his archer die in his nightmares, but there was always one constant. One thing that he couldn’t escape, no matter what the context of the nightly horror; Clint was singing.

“The day the music died… I started singin'… bye, bye Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry… them good ole boys were drinking whiskey in Rye, singin' this'll be the day that I die… this’ll be the day… that I die.”

He died right there, at the end, every time. And every time, it took every ounce of will power Phil Coulson had not to wake up screaming. He would hold tight to his pillow, burying his face deep into it as he sobbed his lover’s name into the night.

He would think of their apartment in Portland, the one they would escape to whenever there was downtime. Phil had told Pepper Potts he was seeing a cellist in Portland—no one, save for Natasha knew they were a couple—and that was his and Clint’s little joke; cellists have bows. There was rarely ever downtime, but they had managed to spend a weekend there not too long ago. Clint had left his Iron Man shirt there (“If you ever tell Stark I have this, I will kill you, Phil. Your body will never be found!), the one he wore to bed. Phil wanted it right now. He wanted to hold it close and just _smell_ his archer one last time.

He wouldn’t sleep again until the next night, only to wake up and repeat the whole scene over and over again.

It was a wonder he hadn’t gone insane yet.

Two months into his recovery and isolation and he was filling out paperwork. At least it was something somewhat normal. Fury and Hill hadn’t stopped by yet today, but that was okay by Phil; he was in the middle of a Supernanny marathon and filling out the requisitions forms needed to grant Thor diplomatic immunity, being that he is technically a visiting dignitary.

He had just finished the third page of _twenty_ when he heard something go thump above his head. He raised an eyebrow, but figured it was nothing more than someone doing construction on one of the upper floors and went back to work. A few moments later, he heard something that made his blood run _cold_.

“Coulson!” It was… a trick, right? It had to be a trick, his own mind playing sick games with him following another night without sleep. “Coulson!” No… no, there was no way his mind could _fake_ that level of worry, of hurt…

“Barton!” One of the ceiling tiles past the foot of his bed fell to the floor; seconds later, Clint Barton dropped through the whole he created, landing in a crouch before standing up with a bright smile on his face. “Clint…”

The archer brushed the dust off his uniform before strolling over to Phil kissing him. Oh, there was the Clint Barton Phil knew so well; the hungry, _passionate_ archer that Phil loved, that Phil _adored_. The kiss broke moments later, Clint holding Phil’s face in his hands, keeping them close. Phil can feel Clint’s breath against his lips and it felt… it felt _safe_.

“How did you find me?” Phil asked; he heard Clint chuckle softly as he rubbed his temple with his thumb.

“Did you honestly think anyone could hide you from me _forever_?” Phil smiled, weaving his fingers into Clint’s hair.

“I thought you… no one said…” Clint’s smile faded, but only slightly. He kissed Phil on the forehead, his lips lingering for a few moments before he broke away.

“I’m alright,” he promised. “Even more so now…” He sat down on the bed, his hand not leaving Phil’s cheek. “When Tasha told me what happened, I… I lost it.”

“How’d you figure it out?”

“One of the junior agents has a big mouth; he was complaining about having to find a new set of mint condition Captain America trading cards.” Clint smiled. “They could only be for one person.” Phil laughed.

“Captain America saves the day again.” Before Clint could reply, another voice joined their conversation.

“Agent!” Clint and Coulson looked towards the door; Tony Stark was standing there, a wide grin on his face. “Holy shit, you are alive! Steve, Bruce, Thor, you _all_ owe me some shawarma, he’s in here!”

Moments later, Phil Coulson was surrounded by the Avengers… by his _friends_. They recounted tails of their adventures, told him about life in the Avengers Mansion, and, more than once, told him how happy they were to see he was alright.

Clint sat on the bed next to him the whole time. Somewhere in the midst of it all, his hand found his way to Phil’s; he laced their fingers together and didn’t let go.

Phil gave his hand a squeeze; it was great to be back.


End file.
